


Copper Colored Quiet

by peachclub



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 20:17:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachclub/pseuds/peachclub
Summary: When Claude looks at him, what kind of man does he see, if not a lesser version of his brother?
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 18
Kudos: 193





	Copper Colored Quiet

The sun beats down on Felix’s skin, brutal. He certainly isn’t wearing the proper attire for this weather. His outfit is suitable for back home, not for Garreg Mach. 

“Hey, Felix.” 

He turns, staring at Claude, who has been silently shooting arrows for about as long as Felix has been training. His chest twists as he watches beads of sweat trail down the length of Claude’s neck. “Fuck off,” Felix says, no bite to his words, simply exhausted. 

“Okay!” Claude gathers his things, leaving without another word. 

Felix stands there for a moment, disbelief slowly setting in. He really left. Felix sheaths his sword, rushing after him. “Clau—” He slams into something solid, pain radiating through his nose. 

“Geez, are you actually running after someone?” Sylvain steadies him, hands on his shoulders. “Who are you after?” 

“No one.” 

“Didn’t look like it. Whose name did you say? Claude?” 

“I said _no one_.” He pushes Sylvain out of the way, heading to his room, sweat dripping down his nape. He catches a glimpse of gold down the hall, walking a little faster. He calls out, “Claude, wait!” 

Claude stops. Felix’s lungs ache as he rushes to catch up. “What did you want?” 

Claude blatantly eyes him up and down, grinning, “Did you run after me?” 

Felix _feels_ his face heat up. He stutters, “N-no. I was going to my room anyway.” He wills away the heat in his cheeks, suddenly incredibly embarrassed. 

He hasn’t seen much of Claude since he agreed to join forces with Dimitri for the war. He’s usually _with _Dimitri or Byleth, discussing strategies, tactics. He catches him in passing, but thinks this is the most interaction they’ve had yet. 

Claude flashes him a bright smile, blinding and beautiful. “See you around,” he says, offering him a small wave as he walks to his room. 

Felix stands there, reaching up to feel his hot cheeks. He bolts to his room, closing the door with a little too much force, throwing himself onto the bed and shoving his heated face into the coolness of his pillow. 

He sighs, turning to stare up at the ceiling and realizing Claude never told him what he wanted. 

-

Back in their academy days, Felix never spoke much to Claude. He was always off doing something crazy, getting himself into some sort of trouble, and Felix didn’t see him much, save for seminars. 

He’s glad Claude allied with them—not that he had any reason not to. Claude always got along well with Dimitri, and has been the one to help him calm down these days, when Byleth’s comfort is not enough. 

“You look lost in thought.” 

Felix snaps out of his daze, turning his head. Claude sits on the bench beside him. “I guess I was.” 

Claude rests an arm on the back of the bench, leaning uncomfortably close, his fingers brushing Felix’s arm. “What were you thinkin’ about?” 

“Nothing,” Felix replies. _You_, he wants to say. 

It frustrates him—Claude is impossible to read. They’re both silent for a moment. Felix can feel Claude’s breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, he’s so close. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a really bad liar?” Claude asks, hot breath ghosting over Felix’s jaw. 

Felix turns to look at him, their noses almost brushing. Once again, his chest constricts, heat spreading from his cheeks to his ears. Claude’s green eyes pierce straight through him, vibrant. “No?” It comes out more of a question than Felix had anticipated. He swallows hard, watching the way Claude’s eyebrow raises. 

“Well, you are,” Claude concludes, suddenly pulling away. He stands, brushing absolutely nothing off of his thighs. “See ya.” 

Felix clenches his fists in his lap, watching him walk away. He stands abruptly, head spinning a bit. 

“Oh, Felix. There you are.” Sylvain never leaves him alone. He suppresses a groan. “Want to spar?” 

Felix laughs so loudly he surprises himself. “_You’re_ asking me to spar?” 

Sylvain shrugs, “I’m bored and can’t take anyone out.” 

Rolling his eyes, Felix should have figured. Not even in a war does Sylvain _actually_ want to train. “Fine. I’ll kick your ass again.” 

Sylvain grins, “It’s _on_, Fraldarius!” 

-

Felix awakens in a horrible mood. Even the warm morning sun angers him. He doesn’t want to be bothered, snaps at Sylvain when he tries to drag him to breakfast, the scowl on his face deepening when anyone simply looks in his direction. 

He sits in the cathedral, staring up through the damaged ceiling. For once, the boar is elsewhere. It’s quiet, save for the sounds of birds chirping gently. He thinks they don’t know how good they have it. 

In the past, he never found respite here. He would rather train until his lungs burned, until his arms became weak from repetitive motions. 

Now, the broken mosaics are comforting, shattered glass covering the floor, reflecting colored light. He stares at the scar on his palm, remembers busting it open on a piece of glass when he was a child. Even then, he was left to face his pain alone. 

This is nothing new. 

He tires of staring at the rubble, his footsteps echoing as he leaves. 

His arms and legs burn from overexerting himself. Every muscle strains, sore. His body is at its limit. No one dares speak to him as he walks to the training grounds, rolling through like a hurricane. 

Training doesn’t help. 

His body can't take it. 

He slips up, almost swinging his sword back onto himself. He releases it quickly enough, and it clatters onto the ground, a couple feet away. Falling to his knees, he stares at his calloused palms, purple and bloody from the grip he had, not bothering to put his gloves on. 

He rests his head in his hands, sliding them up to grip at his hair. Some of it falls loose from his ponytail, and he grits his teeth, pulling hard on the dark strands. 

“Are you okay, Felix?” 

“Go _away_,” he roars. How is he any different from Dimitri, haunted by his past, driving away anyone who dares to get close? 

Silence. 

When he turns, he catches a glimpse of brown and gold, holding back the bile that rises in his throat. 

-

The next war meeting has Felix’s anxiety at an all time high. The time to march for the empire is approaching, and quickly. They’re only getting worse by the day, spilling innocent blood, striking down anyone who dares defy. 

Felix zones out halfway through the meeting, when Dimitri is discussing dates. All he can focus on is how _close_ Claude is to him. He hasn’t spoken to him since Felix yelled at him a few days ago. Why did he decide to sit beside him? 

There’s some sort of scent radiating from him. Something strong, _spices_. Felix wonders if he was cooking. He can’t focus, the scent overwhelming him, almost making him dizzy. 

Dimitri is droning on about obstacles they’ll possibly face. Felix doesn’t hear a word of it. He blinks, trying his hardest not to fall asleep. 

Something firm curls around his thigh. He jolts a bit, staring wide eyed at his lap. Claude’s hand is warm, even through his trousers. He doesn’t spare him a glance, writing notes. Flames burn in the pit of Felix’s belly. 

Sylvain nudges his shoulder, and Felix _hopes_ no one notices. Sylvain leans in to whisper, “Isn’t Dimitri a bit scattered today?” 

Felix shrugs. The grip on his thigh tightens. He swallows hard, readjusting himself so Sylvain can’t see Claude’s hand under the table, and says, “He always is.” 

Suddenly, the hand is gone. Felix finds himself longing for the feeling. 

The meeting ends and Felix wanders, heading up the stairs instead of down, to the balcony. The sun is setting, warm colors painting the sky. He sits on a bench, gently touching his thigh, where Claude’s hand covered. 

He’s never considered Claude a _friend_, really. Simply an acquaintance. He doesn’t know him that well, but he knows how much of an absolute enigma he is. 

He had heard rumors, back in their academy days, one about how Claude was some sort of _spy_ from Almyra, and one where he was planning on poisoning the archbishop. People outside of the Golden Deer house greeted him with sneers and pointed looks, called him sketchy or irresponsible. 

Felix never understood. He never saw Claude as a bad person. He was simply caught up in his own interests. In reality, whose motives aren’t selfishly inclined? 

“Fancy seeing you here.” 

Felix stops picking at a loose thread on his pants, looking up. Claude takes a seat beside him. The _scent_ engulfs Felix the second he sits down. “You smell,” Felix comments. 

Claude frowns and Felix immediately regrets his words. “Do I smell _bad_?” Claude asks, sniffing his collar. 

“No, it’s…” Felix searches for the word, trailing off for a moment. Claude doesn’t push. “It’s pleasant,” he decides. 

Claude smiles, bright enough to rival the sun. Felix wants nothing more than to reach out and touch his facial hair, take his face into his hands. “It’s oil extracted from an Almyran herb! I planted a few in the greenhouse. I can make some for you, if you want.” 

Felix cracks a smile, despite himself. “No, I’m good. I don’t think it would suit me. But thank you.” 

Once again, Claude rests an arm on the back of the bench. He leans in, humming, “I think something more musky would suit you. Maybe something floral.” 

Felix digs his nails farther into his palms. He’s surprised Claude hasn’t brought up what happened the other day. Claude stares at him for a good moment, much too long for Felix’s liking. He snaps, “Can you quit staring so much?” 

Claude’s smile doesn’t falter. “And here I thought you liked the attention.” 

“I don’t,” Felix practically hisses. He’s not used to it and finds it irritating. 

“Why not?” 

Felix’s palms begin to actually _hurt _from how hard he’s clenching his fists, scabs and calluses rough under his nails. He hates attention. Any amount of attention he’s ever gotten was simply to criticize him, tell him how he’s not like Glenn. As if he doesn’t judge himself enough, always trying to get better, desperate to prove himself to a corpse. Glenn is long gone, but his ghost still looms over Felix, and everyone sees it. 

“I don’t know Glenn,” is all Claude says, responding to Felix’s outburst. 

Felix growls, “_What_?” 

“Your brother. I don’t know him. I never knew him. How can I compare you to someone I’ve never met? Why would I?” 

His words stab straight through Felix’s chest, absolutely overwhelming. Claude is right—he never knew his brother. Claude has absolutely nothing to compare him to. 

When Claude looks at him, what kind of man does he see, if not a lesser version of his brother? 

Felix shakes, words caught in his throat. Claude’s expression shifts into one of concern. He gently pries one of Felix’s hands open, rubbing the indents from his nails. Felix squeezes his eyes shut, turning his head down, tears spilling onto his lap. 

The arm Claude has on the bench wraps around his shoulders. 

He didn’t know how badly he needed his words. How badly he needed to hear that _someone_ doesn’t compare him to Glenn. His closest friends—Dimitri, Ingrid, Sylvain—they all _knew_ Glenn, saw Felix grow up in his shadow, alienated from his own father. 

Claude never saw any of that. 

Felix shoves his face into the crook of his neck. He smells so _good_, a tinge of vanilla underneath the powerful spice. The scent is intoxicating. Claude’s hug is so warm, comforting, and his clothing is so soft, acting almost as a cushion. Felix grips his coat, hands cramping painfully. 

“You’re not your brother, and that’s a good thing,” Claude says. 

_A good thing_, Felix thinks. Is it? He’ll never be as noble as Glenn, as strong, as kind. Is it truly a good thing that he’s not like him? 

Claude’s hand curled around the back of his neck makes him feel like it is. It’s okay. It’s _okay_ not to be a spitting image of Glenn. 

“I just know you’re an absolute _master _with a sword, and you can take anyone down.” 

Felix actually laughs at that, a short chuckle into Claude’s skin. “Thank you, Claude,” he whispers, pulling back. Claude rubs his thumb over his tears. Felix feels disgusting and ridiculously embarrassed. He hasn’t cried in front of someone in a very long time. 

Claude doesn’t mention it, remains quiet as he uses his sleeve to wipe at Felix’s damp cheeks. Felix looks at him, at the way his bright eyes reflect the golden light, at the way his hair curls around his face, almost picturesque. 

He leans in, and Claude meets him halfway. 

He follows Claude’s lead, scooting closer to him, lips blazing hot. Claude keeps him coming back for more, practically making Felix chase his mouth, almost in his lap. The whine ripped from Felix’s throat makes Claude grin, slipping his fingers into Felix’s hair, gently holding the back of his head. 

Breathless, Felix pulls away, resting his forehead against Claude’s. “Sorry,” Felix mumbles, averting his gaze. 

Claude curiously asks, “For what?” 

“You—I—I don’t know,” he helplessly says. He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. They’re in the middle of a _war_, and he’s allowing personal feelings to get in his way. This won’t end well. 

Felix stands abruptly, hair falling from his ponytail. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” 

Claude nods, almost understandingly. Felix hates the softness in his eyes, tries his hardest to forget it as he leaves. 

-

Felix trains so hard he throws up, body hunched over in the corner, retching into a wastebasket. He claws at his thighs, pulling threads on his trousers. He’s lightheaded, the heat is getting to him. He feels like his guts are going to come out of his mouth with how violent his body is convulsing. 

He sits back, world spinning before it turns black. 

The color returns just as quickly as it faded. Felix groans, his head pounding. He goes to sit up, but realizes he’s on top of something. 

“Oh. Be careful.” 

Of everyone who could have found him— 

Claude gently strokes his cheek. Felix shuts his eyes once more, comfortable in his lap. “Those scars are pretty nasty,” Claude comments. 

Scars. He touches his arm—his coat is gone. 

“I thought you had overheated so I took your jacket off,” Claude explains. 

“Thoron,” Felix grumbles. 

Claude hums, “Sorry, what?” 

Opening his eyes, Felix looks up at him. “My scars. A Thoron spell went wrong and backfired.” Claude traces a line down his jaw, over his lips. Felix trembles, feeling ill. He sits up, coughing, feeling sweat drip down his temple. 

He forces himself onto his feet, stumbling. Claude is quick to assist, catching him before he falls over. 

“Leave me alone,” Felix weakly says. He doesn’t want Claude’s pity. He’s already seen him in a despicable state. 

“Unfortunately, I can’t do that this time.” 

_This time_. 

Suddenly, Felix realizes that every time he’s told Claude to leave, he has. He looks at him, vision blurring at the edges, leaning into him. Claude maneuvers himself to grab Felix’s jacket off the ground, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him steady. 

Felix’s head lolls onto his shoulder, delirious. Claude helps him walk, carefully guiding him out of the training grounds and to his room. The stairs prove to be a challenge, but they manage. 

Felix collapses onto his bed, shaking. He takes his boots off, cursing them for being so high, curling up into himself. 

Claude shoves the blanket over him, placing his palm to his forehead. “I’ll be right back,” Claude says, and he leaves Felix‘s door _wide open_. Felix grumbles, but he can hear Claude rummaging about in his own room. 

“Here,” Claude says as he returns. “Water.” Felix raises an eyebrow, and Claude explains, “I always have water in my room. Need it for potions. Drink it.” 

Felix props himself up on an elbow, his muscles ready to give out any second. There’s something slightly comforting about the burn, reminiscent of when he would train as a child, holding swords that weighed almost as much as he did. He downs the glass, settling back against the pillow. “You still do that?” Felix asks, recalling the past. 

Claude sets the glass aside, nodding. “Every once in a while.” His hand in Felix’s hair feels incredible—gentle, pressing into his scalp. “You’re burning up,” Claude informs him. “I can whip something up for you,” he offers. 

“Do what you want. I don’t care.” Felix shuts his eyes, turning away from him. He can hear Claude chuckle, and ignores it. 

“You really have an issue when people are nice to you, huh?” 

Felix grits his teeth, his words striking a bit of a nerve. “I don’t have an issue when people are nice to me.” He sits up, poking Claude’s chest accusingly, “I have an issue when people _coddle_ me.” 

Claude grabs his wrist before he can pull it away, and tugs, bringing Felix mere inches from his face. Claude says, “Last time I checked, coddling someone and doing something nice to help the person you like are two different things.” 

_The person you like_. 

Felix searches his eyes for the punchline, so desperate for Claude to not be playing a joke on him. All he finds is sincerity. 

Felix forcefully pulls away, frowning, eyebrows furrowed. He situates himself against the wall, averting his gaze, and says, “You don’t like me.” He finds it hard to believe. 

“Do I not?” Claude scoots closer on the bed, “Because I think I just said I do.” 

Felix swallows hard, his legs falling apart easily when Claude places a hand on his knee, settling himself between his thighs. Sweat drips from his hair, falling from his jaw. In one smooth motion, Claude has a hand curled around the back of his head, kissing him deeply. 

He isn’t sure if it’s Claude’s mouth or his fever, but the heat is almost unbearable. He keeps him close, blushing furiously, fisting his hands in his coat so he doesn’t pull away. Claude’s tongue sends his head into a frenzy, absolutely maddening. 

Felix whines, high in his throat, and Claude groans, “You have no idea how much I like you.” He rubs his thumbs over Felix’s flushed cheeks, holding his face close. 

His words are hard to process. Of course, it’s not the first time someone has liked him. He remembers blushing confessions from girls back when he was a teenager, but this is the first time he actually _likes someone back._

Unfortunately, he has to look at the reality of things. Crushes are harmless if not acted upon. They’re in the middle of a war—Felix doesn’t think he could handle the fear of losing Claude. He already doesn’t like to think about losing his friends. 

“What scares you?” 

_Damn it all_, he thinks. Claude can see straight through him. How infuriating. “The war,” Felix replies. 

Claude’s smile is tender, his eyes radiating that same warmth from the day on the third floor. “I promise I won’t die.” 

Felix scoffs, grabbing Claude’s wrists and forcing his hands away. “You don’t get to decide whether you die or not.” The battlefield is unpredictable. Claude’s words carry no weight. 

“I won’t,” he says, more confidently this time. “But tell me to fuck off and I’ll go, and I won’t bug you anymore.” 

Felix bites down hard on his tongue. He doesn’t reply. Claude starts to scoot away, off the bed, but Felix reaches out to grab his arm. 

Claude stares at him, waiting. 

Just this once, Felix swallows his pride, scrambling forward to kiss him once more. Felix’s hands are sweaty, clammy, but he tugs at Claude’s hair anyway, wavy brown strands sticking to his palms. 

Looming over him, Claude presses him into the mattress. Felix pants, unable to catch his breath, eyes fluttering. Claude pulls away, mumbling, “I’m going to make you that remedy before you pass out again. I’ll be back.” 

Despite being overheated, Felix misses his warmth the second he’s gone. Claude closes the door this time, and Felix curls up into himself, arms wrapped around his pillow. 

Sleep comes easily, dragging him down, helping him heal. 

-

Claude’s _remedy_ has him throwing up for two hours, his body convulsing and sore. He groans, “What _is_ that, Claude? You asshole.” He retches, gripping the wastebasket. 

Claude rubs his back, fingertips circling his scars. “It’s the fastest way to rid yourself of an illness. Don’t worry, it usually goes away after about three hours.” 

“Great. Only one more hour to go,” he deadpans. Claude hands him a glass of water, reminding him to hydrate. He has a blanket thrown over his shoulders, his sweat-soaked shirt discarded somewhere. Claude’s hand sliding under the blanket and pressing into the ridges of his spine makes him tremble. 

Felix’s eyes are bloodshot. He rests his head on Claude’s shoulder, finally managing to get a moment of peace. His throat is raw and scratchy. He sighs, deciding that a nap is certainly needed after all of this. 

He awakens in his own bed, sitting up. Something smells incredible. 

“Oh good, you’re up. Sylvain stopped by with some food for you. He said it’s your favorite. Are you hungry?” 

Claude is at his desk, looking through a notebook with incredibly small handwriting. It surely doesn’t belong to Felix. 

Felix’s stomach growls. He crawls out of bed and Claude stands from the chair, allowing Felix to sit. He hadn’t realized he was starving. Sylvain always grabs him an extra plate if he’s what he likes. 

“What are you reading?” 

“Professor’s chicken scratch. I can barely understand a thing she’s written. These are supposed to be _war notes_.” 

Through a mouthful of food, Felix says, “Don’t bother asking the boar. His handwriting has always been terrible. Probably even more so these days.” 

Claude sits on Felix’s bed, closing the notebook. He asks, “You care about him a lot, don’t you?” 

Despite it being his favorite meal, the flavor in his mouth turns sour. He puts the fork down. “My family has _suffered_ because of him. I have to care. I have to live, and that _boar_ has to live. I need my own life after all of this.” 

Claude nods, but doesn’t say anything else. 

The pause between them is long, an awkward silence that has Felix’s stomach forming knots. He turns back to the food, unable to handle it any longer. He finishes without another word. 

When he looks back, Claude has made himself comfortable on his bed, curled up under his blanket, asleep. Felix frowns, standing and grabbing the discarded notebook off the edge of the bed, setting it on the desk. 

Claude looks so peaceful—cheek shoved into the pillow, lips parted slightly, hair mussed. Felix wonders when exactly he fell asleep. 

He slips in beside him, full and sleepy. Claude was right, he is feeling much better than before. No doubt thanks to his remedy. 

Claude throws an arm over his waist, making himself comfortable. Felix buries his face in Claude’s hair. That _scent_ is there—the one that makes Felix feel light-headed, the one that makes him dizzy in the best way possible. He wonders how Claude can always smell so _good_. 

Claude snores softly into his chest. Felix’s heart swells, the knots in his stomach unraveling. Claude is so warm, solid and comforting. 

For a moment, Felix wonders if this is the definition of bliss, pushing away the thoughts that terrify him. 

-

Felix stirs awake, surrounded by heat. He opens his eyes, sees the sun seeping in through the curtains. He isn’t alone. 

“Claude?” 

“Hm?” 

Claude spent the night, he realizes, reaching up to trace his facial hair. Claude smiles at him, an easy, lazy smile that warms Felix to his core. 

Once again, Claude initiates a kiss, lips soft and smooth. Felix wants to get lost in him, throw away every thought that troubles him. Claude moves from his mouth, trailing kisses down to his neck. He goes taut, every muscle in his body tensing at the feeling of Claude’s teeth ghosting over his skin. Felix squeezes his eyes shut tightly, gripping Claude’s bicep like his life depends on it. 

The hot breath on his skin fades. Claude’s hand comes up to his cheek, startling his eyes open, gently rubbing his thumb over his skin. Claude whispers, “What scares you?” 

It’s a loaded question, perhaps more loaded than the last time he asked. 

The fear of letting anyone get too close is absolutely crippling. Felix wants—he _craves_ the intimacy. He longs for the feeling of someone’s hands on his skin, someone’s lips on his body. He desires the heat, the sweat, the hunger. Of course, things are never as simple as he wishes they could be. He can’t let anyone in—can’t run the risk of losing anyone else. 

The worst part of it all, is that his body wants Claude just as badly as Claude wants him. 

He doesn’t answer him this time. 

“I like your hair down,” Claude says suddenly. 

Felix frowns. “I hate it. It makes me look like my father.” 

Claude grabs a handful of Felix’s hair, choppy layers between his fingers. He _pulls_, and the sound that’s ripped from Felix’s throat is one he’s never heard before. Felix blushes, from his cheeks to his chest, allowing his eyes to fall shut. Claude kisses his neck properly this time, the tension in his body dissolving. Felix’s hand comes up to claw at Claude’s chest, trembling. 

“You’re shaking,” Claude comments, nipping at his neck, nose brushing his jaw. 

“Y-yeah, well, y’know.” 

Much to Felix’s chagrin, a mixture of anxiety and arousal leaves him at a loss. 

Claude pulls away, staring at his flushed face, the way his shoulders tremble, his hands weakly grasping at Claude’s shirt. His eyes are glazed over. “Felix—” 

Felix crushes their lips together, pressing hard into him. Claude doesn’t push him—lets Felix hold the reins. Claude’s mouth is burning, flames licking their way past Felix’s lips, devouring him. Felix wants him, wants more, wants _all_ of him. 

A soft noise from Claude snaps him back to reality. 

He stops, pulling away, whispering, “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Claude replies, and his understanding drives Felix up the wall. 

Tears threatening to spill, Felix traces Claude’s face with his fingertips. “Why?” Claude furrows his eyebrows. “Why me?” 

His response is simple. “You’re different.” 

Felix doesn’t like that. “Everyone’s different,” he snaps. 

Claude eases him down a bit, sliding an arm up his spine, bringing him close. “I mean...you’re probably the only person here who didn’t have a negative preconceived notion of me. You’ve never given me a dirty look. Well, aside from your regular ones, anyway. You know what I mean.” 

Felix snorts, averting his gaze. Claude grabs his chin, kissing him once more, delicately, as if Felix will break. 

Everything around them stills, complete silence swallowing them whole. Felix feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. 

“Felix,” Claude whispers, reaching up to wipe at the tears streaming down his face. Felix sobs and Claude scatters kisses on his face. “It’ll be okay.” 

“Will it?” His voice breaks, “How many of us have to die for it to be okay?” The nightmares are too much sometimes, watching his best friends die. He rests his forehead against Claude’s. He doesn’t want nightmares of him, too. 

“We _will _succeed,” Claude confidently says. 

Staring at his eyes, the fire burning inside, Felix desperately wants to believe him. 

-

“You’ve been so weird lately,” Sylvain says. “I barely see you anymore. And what, Claude was taking care of you when you were sick? What’s that about?” 

Felix stares up at the sky, watching leaves fall from the tree above them. “I don’t know, Sylvain.” 

Sylvain furrows his eyebrows, but wraps an arm around him, warm and secure. “I’m always here for you.” 

“I know you are.” For once, Felix leans on him. Sylvain may be a nuisance most of the time, but Felix loves him. There’s no one else around anyway, no one to see him this vulnerable. “Promise me something.” 

“Huh? What?” 

It takes Felix a moment to muster up the courage. He inhales deeply. “Promise me that you won’t risk your life for me when we fight Edelgard.” The pause that follows is painful and telling. Felix knows Sylvain would throw his life away for him. He persists, “_Promise me_.” 

“Felix, I—” Sylvain seems to be at a loss. He grabs Felix’s hand, “We promised we’d die together.” 

“I know. _Don’t die first. _Please, Sylvain.” 

Sylvain releases a shaky exhale, “Together. We’ll live together.” 

“Or die together. No separation.” 

Sylvain nods, hooking his pinky around Felix’s. “I promise.” 

Felix relaxes against the tree he’s leaning on. He can see smoke in the sky. The time is nearing. 

They sit in silence for a while. It’s not comfortable, sadness making itself at home in Felix’s veins. It’s Sylvain that speaks up first. 

“So what about you and Claude?” Felix can’t stop the blush that creeps onto his cheeks. Sylvain teases, “Oh? The great Felix Hugo Fraldarius is blushing?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“You like him, don’t you? I saw him grabbing your leg at the war meeting.” 

_Oh no_. Felix had tried to hide it, too. Curse it all, at least Sylvain never brought it up until now. He clears his throat awkwardly, “Y-yeah. I like him.” 

Sylvain’s smile is wide and genuine. “He likes you too, I can tell.” 

“I’m scared,” Felix whispers, picking at the grass, shredding the blades with his nails. “What if he dies, Sylvain?” 

Sylvain hums. “To be fair, I think if anyone were to get the ‘least likely to die’ medal, it would probably be Claude.” 

Felix hopes he’s right. “Let’s head back.” 

Sylvain nods, standing and extending his hand for Felix. Felix accepts the aid, hoping he won’t ever have to live without Sylvain by his side. 

-

Felix knows it’s a horrible time to delve into a relationship, to dive into his own feelings and explore them. He knows they’ll end up with scars and broken hearts at some point, but something pulls him to Claude, keeps him coming back for more. 

“You’re distracted,” Claude says against his mouth, hands squeezing his ass and bringing him closer. 

Felix drops his head back against the wall, a feeling of unease bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He hisses, “We’re in public.” 

Claude retorts, “It’s three in the morning and we’re on the training grounds. No one’s going to come in here.” Claude moves to his neck, nuzzling his nose against the most sensitive spot, making Felix tremble in his grasp. “Thank you for trusting me,” Claude whispers, scattering kisses over his skin. 

From here, he smells incredible. Felix has found himself longing for the scent, hunting down that Almyran spice. 

With his unstable hands fisted in Claude’s hair, he drags him so their lips slide together, eyes shut. Claude is rutting against him, cock hardening against his thigh, and Felix is already throbbing in his trousers. He wants Claude—wants him in any way he can have him, desperate for contact. 

“Can I touch you?” Claude asks, practically panting, hot breath dampening Felix’s neck. 

“Please.” 

Claude unlaces his pants, dipping his hand beneath his underwear. He hisses, “Fuck.” 

Felix’s eyes fly open. He asks worriedly, “What?” 

Claude lets out a short laugh, “Nothing. Gods, you’re just—hard already.” 

“Is that bad?” Felix frowns, suddenly embarrassed. 

“Quite the contrary,” Claude easily replies. 

The last thing Felix expects is for Claude to drop to his knees in front of him. He squeaks out his name, but Claude is already tugging his pants down just enough, cock twitching as the cold air hits his skin. “It’s really hot, actually.” 

Before Felix can respond, Claude’s tongue is licking a stripe up the length. Felix scrapes the brick wall with his nails, breathing unevenly. 

He forgets everything—the anxieties of war disappearing from his mind. It’s exhilarating, a foreign feeling. Felix chases his arousal, Claude’s wet heat making his head spin. 

Gently, Claude takes one of his hands, stopping him from busting his skin open on the brick, and guides it to his hair instead. Felix gets the hint, shoving both of his hands into wavy brown strands. 

For a fleeting moment, Felix finds himself missing the braid Claude used to have back in their academy days. He tells him. Claude looks up at him, fingers curled around Felix’s dick, leaking onto the ground. “Yeah? I’ll grow it out again, just for you.” 

Felix stares at his face, cheeks flushed and lips red, slick with spit. Claude takes him in once more, tongue pressing against the underside. Felix’s knees shake, going weak. Claude keeps him steady, grabbing two handfuls of his ass, squeezing. 

The moonlight bounces off of Claude’s features, hollowing his cheekbones, shining in his hair. He’s ethereal. Felix’s breath gets caught in his throat. 

Claude is quiet, yet diligent. Felix can feel himself unravel, quickly, unable to stop himself from whimpering. Claude nuzzles his cheek against Felix’s length, facial hair scratchy, spit and precome glistening on his skin. 

Felix shifts, glancing down, catching a glimpse of Claude’s hand, moving in his pants. Felix stutters, “I want—I want to see.” 

Claude raises an eyebrow, and grabs both of Felix’s legs, pulling them out from underneath him. Felix yelps, bare ass hitting the ground. He glares, but it’s gone just as fast—eyes focused on what’s in front of him. 

Claude has tilted his head back, exposing the length of his neck. Felix can see the indents from his teeth—hopes they leave a mark. He shoved his pants down just enough, fist tight around himself, giving him an incredible view. Felix leans in, mouth watering at the sight. “Claude,” he breathes, sounding desperate. He receives a low moan in response. Felix’s nails dig into the ground. “Claude, please,” he begs, shifting uncomfortably. 

Claude gives him what he wants, straddling his lap and wrapping his hand around both of them. Felix’s head hits the wall _hard_. Claude chuckles softly, reaching his free hand up, caressing the back of his head like he always does, smiling when Felix leans into his touch. 

Felix pants, leaking in Claude’s palm. He says his name once more, grabbing his face and kissing him. Felix kisses him like he’s _starving_, and Claude returns his enthusiasm. Felix doesn’t know exactly what he’s feeling, what this tightening in his chest is, but he _needs_ this, needs Claude beside him. 

The sounds coming from Claude’s fist are filthy, wet and _squelching_. It’s absolutely absurd. Claude thrusts up into his own fist, grinding against Felix’s cock. Felix writhes, clawing his nails down Claude’s arms, pulling at the expensive fabric there, whining into his mouth. 

“Fuck, Felix, you’re so—” 

Claude trails off, sinking his teeth into Felix’s throat. Felix arches up, a ticking time bomb, ready to explode. He groans, “I’m so _what_?” 

Claude laughs breathlessly, twisting his wrist. He kisses him hard, rasping, “You’re so _beautiful_.” 

It does him in. 

Felix sobs into his mouth, spilling over Claude’s hand. His body is wracked with tremors, hands cramping, twisting in Claude’s coat. 

Claude curses, hips stuttering. Felix doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more surreal, the way Claude tilts his head back to the sky, blushing down his neck, Felix’s name on his lips. He wants to engrave it into his memory, turn it into his religion and pray to the sight. 

Burying his face in the crook of Felix’s neck, Claude goes limp for a moment, fist covered in come. He inhales deeply, whispering, “I’m here for you.” 

“Thank you,” Felix replies, gently stroking the back of his head. “I’m also here for you.” He shuts his eyes tightly, willing away the tears threatening to spill. 

He never wants this moment to end, wants to live with this feeling inside of himself forever. 

“My hand,” Claude mumbles. 

Felix grabs the cloth he was using for his sweat, wiping Claude’s hand down. Claude snorts, but thanks him. 

“I think we should bathe,” Claude says. 

Felix nods. They readjust themselves, looking presentable enough if guards catch glimpses of them. Felix grabs Claude’s hand for comfort. 

Claude intertwines their fingers, holding him tightly—holding him together. 

-

The preparations begin to fall into place. They march for the empire in a week. 

Felix tries his hardest to stay calm. It doesn’t work. He’s wearing a hole in the floor of the knights hall, pacing back and forth. 

“Something troubles you,” a familiar voice says. It’s not a question. It’s a statement. 

Felix stops, blood suddenly running cold. He hurries to leave, but Dimitri grabs his arm, firmly saying his name. “Let go of me _now_, boar,” he spits, trying to free himself from his grasp. 

“Whether you like it or not, we’re on the same team, Felix. Please.” 

Felix’s heart races as he continues to struggle. “Let go. Let go!” He catches glimpses of his father, the blood, pooling at Dimitri’s feet. “_Let go_!” 

Dimitri does, and Felix goes slamming into the wall, losing his balance. Felix drops to the ground, trembling, curling in on himself. He hyperventilates, burying his face in his knees. 

“Felix?” 

Felix’s skin tingles. He feels distant, hears Dimitri’s voice from afar. 

“_Felix_.” 

Something warm wraps around him, and he can _feel _someone beside him. Felix looks, sees Dimitri’s face, laced with concern. He speaks, but Felix can’t understand what he’s saying. 

Dimitri frowns, wrapping his cloak tighter around Felix, still talking. Felix reaches out, touching his throat, feeling the vibrations from his words, but he can’t hear a thing. He closes his eyes, skin prickling, so cold. 

“Felix, can you hear me?” 

He nods, leaning into Dimitri’s embrace, despite it all. Dimitri. His childhood friend. What have they become? 

Dimitri hugs him, stroking his hair. Felix exhales unevenly, burying his face in the crook of his neck. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s there—wrapped up in Dimitri’s cloak. His skin warms, the ringing in his ears calming down. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Felix says, scooting away and avoiding eye contact. His hands are still trembling. Dimitri sits beside him, keeping him company. Felix doesn’t say anything else, and Dimitri doesn’t push. 

After a while, Felix makes an effort to stand. “Thanks, I guess.” He hands Dimitri his cloak, turning to leave. 

“Wait.” 

Felix pauses, not even looking at him. “What?” 

“Stay safe, Felix.” 

He inhales sharply, offering a glance over his shoulder. “You too.” 

-

“You’re not very talkative today.” 

Tired, Felix presses his face into Claude’s chest. “I’ve had a long day.” Claude runs his fingers through his hair. Unfortunately, it doesn’t calm him today. “We’re running out of time,” Felix solemnly says. 

“Is that what’s bugging you?” 

Felix curls his hands in Claude’s shirt in response. 

“Felix,” Claude breathes, nuzzling his face into Felix’s hair. “We’re going to win this.” 

“You don’t know that, Claude.” 

Claude pulls back a bit to take Felix’s face into his hands. “We outnumber them and our teammates outrank them. We’re going to win. I promise you.” 

Cheeks red, Felix’s frown doesn’t falter. He whispers, “And after?” The thought terrifies him—going back home, facing everything alone. He doesn’t think he can handle it all himself. Sylvain has his own work to attend to, and probably won’t be able to offer much help. 

“After? Perhaps I’ll go with you.” 

“Don’t tell lies to make me feel better,” Felix snarls, irritated. He scowls, pulling away from Claude’s hold. “You’ll go back to the Alliance, and I’ll go back to Faerghus, and we’ll never see each other again. Tell the truth.” 

“Felix. The Alliance is no longer mine.” 

In an instant, Felix’s heart sinks. His voice cracks, “What?” 

“I gave Dimitri everything,” Claude whispers. 

Felix can’t believe it. He grabs the front of Claude’s shirt, fists bunching up at his collar. “Why? Why would you give all of that up?” 

Claude simply smiles. It only infuriates Felix even further. “Because I don’t need it. If you’ll let me, I’ll explain it all after the war. Promise.” 

Felix loosens his grip. Claude grabs his hand, lifting his arm to kiss his wrist and bring him closer once more. 

“You’re an idiot,” is all Felix says. “Don’t get yourself killed.” 

Claude presses his lips to Felix’s forehead, tucking his hair behind his ear. Despite getting cut on his sharp edges, Claude remains soft. “Let me come with you.” 

His words ring in Felix’s ears for a moment. He thinks about it—thinks of waking up beside him, thinks of having Claude by his side to offer insight. To not be alone. He wants that more than anything. “Please,” Felix breathes. 

“I want you next to me,” Claude says. 

Tears prick at the corners of Felix’s eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut, scrunching up his face, burying his nose deeper into Claude's neck. “Claude, I—I really—” He can’t force the words out, choking up, letting out an involuntary sob into Claude’s skin. 

“I know,” Claude whispers, “me too.” 

-

The sun sets red, smoke high in the sky. It’s sickening. Felix stares over the balcony, the barren wasteland past the stone walls. Tomorrow, they march for the Empire. 

He thinks of his teammates, his friends. He thinks of Claude, agile and accurate. He shuts his eyes, inhaling deeply. 

A flash of blood appears behind his eyelids. Felix gasps, gripping the side of the balcony. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” 

His nails scrape the stone. He turns, watching as Claude approaches him, easily sliding an arm around his waist and kissing him, comforting. 

Felix whispers, “Do you think peace will truly come? Is it actually attainable?” 

Claude nods. “If I didn't trust Dimitri, I wouldn’t be here. Peace starts with a unified Fódlan.” 

Felix’s heart feels like it’s going to come out of his mouth. He sighs, picking at a loose string on Claude’s coat. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid when we fight.” 

“I promise, Felix.” 

Twisting his hands in Claude’s coat, Felix’s voice cracks, “You have to live. Don’t make me go alone.” _Don’t leave me like everyone else._

Claude smiles softly, “We’ll both live. Trust me.” 

Felix wants to have faith in his words, wants so desperately to believe there’s a future past all of this. He _wants_ a future, with Claude beside him. He yearns for the sunrise, outside of these walls, for the ocean breeze, chilling the blood in his veins. 

Assuring him once more, Claude confidently says, “We will win.” Felix stares him in the eyes, passion blazing bright. Claude kisses him again, hope bursting in his chest, breathing a new life into his lungs he didn’t know was possible. 

Tomorrow, they end all of this. For once, he wants to march forward, desperate to open the next chapter. 

This won’t be the end. 

**Author's Note:**

> no one can tell me claude just QUIT making potions, okay?
> 
> yeah anyway hey i dont know what this is or how i feel about it but i hope you all enjoyed it regardless!! SHIP FELICLAUDE


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